


Bag End Bakery

by imaginary_golux



Series: October Ficlet Challenge [41]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Flirting, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 05:12:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: Prompt 21: Bakery AUThorin needs a cake for his nephew's sixteenth birthday. The Bag End Bakery is supposed to be the best in town.Prompt and beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	Bag End Bakery

“I wish to speak with the baker,” Thorin says, peering down at the short, plump man with flour in his hair who is currently arranging small cakes in the display case.

“Then you’re in luck; I’m him,” the man replies, straightening and dusting his hands on his apron and giving Thorin a bright, clearly practiced smile. “Bilbo Baggins at your service.”

“You look more like a greengrocer than a baker,” Thorin says, too busy being utterly flabbergasted by bright blue eyes like sapphires to watch his tongue properly.

“I _beg_ your pardon,” Baggins says, his voice getting several degrees colder.

Thorin plows ahead, not wishing to make this suddenly distressing conversation go on any longer than it has to. Of _course_ he’s insulted the loveliest man he’s seen in years right off the bat. Why wouldn’t he? Par for the course, honestly. “I wish to order a cake,” he says. “For this weekend.”

“Little short notice,” Baggins says mildly. “How fancy?”

“Not terribly,” Thorin says at once. “My nephew is turning sixteen and has expressed a desire for ‘something with chocolate’. I assume you can provide such a thing.”

Baggins looks mildly affronted again. “Of course I can,” he says. “How many people are you planning to have? And _when_ this weekend?”

“...At least thirteen, but they all eat a lot, so better to plan for twenty-six,” Thorin says. “And Sunday.”

“A half sheet, then,” Baggins says. “Chocolate with chocolate icing? And what would you like written on it?”

“Happy Birthday Kili Durinson,” Thorin says.

“Lovely,” Baggins says. “That’ll be ninety dollars.” Thorin’s jaw drops.

“Every other place in town does it for sixty,” he protests.

“And you have come to me because frankly every other place in town makes a cake that isn’t _worth_ sixty dollars,” Baggins says. “Mine is worth ninety.” He bends down and takes a little petit four out of the display case and holds it out expectantly. Thorin takes it, glowering, and takes a bite.

And then he closes his eyes, quite involuntarily, and has to work quite hard to stifle a moan of pleasure. It is, quite simply, the best cake he has ever had, bar none. It is _intensely_ chocolate, rich and sweet and dark, the cake is moist, the filling is a perfectly tart raspberry jam, the icing is not buttercream but _ganache_ -

Thorin swallows and opens his eyes. “Ninety,” he agrees hoarsely. “I’ll come by to pick it up on Sunday morning, around ten?”

“It’ll be ready,” Baggins says, looking satisfied. Thorin retreats from the shop and tucks himself into an unobtrusive corner on the street before he eats the other half of the petit four, and then, shamelessly, licks the ganache from his fingers. Holy _shit_ , that’s amazing. He might just eat the whole sheet cake himself.

*

“You paid how much for a cake?” Dis asks incredulously.

“What it’s worth,” Thorin replies, with as much dignity as he can muster.

“This isn’t because that cute little baker down at Bag End Bakery is exactly your type, right?” Dis asks, narrowing her eyes.

“No,” Thorin says, scowling back at her. “It’s not.” He puts the enormous cake box down on the table with a thump. “You’ll see.”

“Hmmph,” Dis says. “Sure I will.” But she goes bustling into the kitchen for plates and forks and a cake-cutter anyhow, and Thorin glowers at the innocuous cake box for a moment and then heads for the front door to keep Dwalin from knocking it off its hinges by accident. _Again_.

Baggins hadn’t been at the bakery counter. A tiny young man, no older than Kili, had taken Thorin’s money and handed over the cake - which must have weighed almost as much as he did - with the breathless explanation that, “Uncle’s in the back doing some tricky piping.” Thorin’s _not_ disappointed, really he isn’t. He just...thought the baker would hand the cake over in person. That’s all.

He gets to the door just in time to open it for Dwalin, and then the rest of the day is given over to the utter chaos which makes up any Durinson party. Thorin barely has any time to think about the baker _or_ the cake between getting Fili out of a tree and urging Bifur out of the garden (if he eats Dis’s tomatoes she will be _livid_ ) and telling Bofur that even if Kili _is_ sixteen now maybe the bawdy songs can wait until the kid is _eighteen_ at least and -

Well. It’s all a bit of a madhouse.

But then it’s time for the cake-cutting, and Dis lifts the top of the box off to reveal a truly beautiful sheetcake, all smooth chocolate ganache, with what certainly looks like that wonderful raspberry jam used to pipe out _Happy Birthday Kili Durinson_ in an almost calligraphic hand.

“Damn,” Dwalin says. “If that tastes as good as it looks, I will be _impressed_.”

Kili gets the first piece, of course, a corner bit with plenty of ganache, and he takes the first bite under the watchful gaze of the entire clan. His eyes go wide.

“Holy _shit_ , Uncle Thorin, where did you _find_ this?”

“Language,” Dis says, and then takes a bite of her own piece. “Holy _shit_.”

Dwalin takes an enormous bite of his, and his eyes roll back in his head. He finishes the whole piece in three gigantic bites - Thorin is still savoring his _first_ , because cake this good deserves to be given proper attention - and goes back for more. Dis whacks his hand with the cake-cutter.

“Thorin,” Dwalin says, licking ganache off his hand, “where did you say you got this?”

“Bag End Bakery,” Thorin says.

“With the adorable little baker?” Dwalin asks. “Huh. You should marry him. Then we’d have cake like this _all_ the time.”

Thorin almost facepalms, and remembers just in time that he’s holding a fork. “Dwalin, I’ve exchanged maybe thirty words with the fellow.”

“And you insulted him with half of them, didn’t you,” Dwalin says shrewdly. “Go apologize. And then marry him.”

“Dwalin, I can’t just marry someone three days after meeting him,” Thorin protests.

“Hah!” Dis says. “That doesn’t mean you don’t _want_ to.”

Which leads, by a series of events which Thorin frankly doesn’t want to think about, to Dwalin and Dis frog-marching him to the front of Bag End Bakery - Thorin’s still got his fork in his hand, and is clutching his plate of cake like a lifeline - and dumping him neatly in front of a very surprised Bilbo Baggins, who is locking up his shop for the night.

“Mister...Durinson, was it?” Baggins asks, raising one eyebrow at them. The rest of the clan is clustered behind Thorin and his escorts, of course, all looking eager. “Is there a problem with the cake?”

“No,” Thorin says hastily. “No problems at all. Wonderful cake.” The rest of his family chimes in with enthusiastic praise, and Baggins’ cheeks go faintly pink with pleasure.

“Then...what brings you here?” Baggins asks.

Dis nudges Thorin hard with her elbow at the same time that Dwalin does the same on Thorin’s other side, which results in Thorin making a sort of _oof_ sound and doubling over. Baggins steps forward and takes the plate of cake from his hand before it can fall. Thorin is distantly grateful, if rather preoccupied with not being able to breathe.

“I wish to apologize for my rudeness when last we spoke,” he says at last, when he’s gotten his breath back.

“Forgiven,” Baggins says at once.

Dis nudges Thorin again. Her elbows are _sharp_. Thorin glares at her briefly, and meets a far more menacing glare in return. When did she get to be so scary, anyway? “I also wished to ask if you would be interested in joining me for dinner,” Thorin says to Baggins, keeping a wary eye on his sister as he does so.

Baggins looks startled. Thorin sighs to himself and gives the smaller man his very best pleading eyes - the same ones Kili uses to good effect to get out of half the trouble he _should_ have to deal with. “If only to save me from my sister?”

“Well, for such a good cause,” Baggins says, laughter clear in his voice. “How can I say no? Shall we say tomorrow, around seven?”

“Thank you,” Thorin says, as Baggins hands back his plate of cake, and he means it. “Tomorrow, around seven. I will meet you here?”

“Sounds lovely,” Baggins says. “Until then, Mister Durinson.”

“Until then, Mister Baggins,” Thorin says, and finally makes his escape.

“There now,” Dis says once they’re all home again. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“I hate you all,” Thorin says, and takes another piece of cake out into the garden, where the only thing that might attack him is the neighbor’s cat.

It really is very good cake.

**Author's Note:**

> So Best Beloved and I are doing an October ficlet challenge. We each generated a list of pairings we'd be willing to write and a list of prompts we wanted the other person to write, and then traded prompts lists without knowing what the other person's pairing lists were. We'll be doing a ficlet each every day in October. Should be fun!
> 
> I am, as ever, imaginarygolux on tumblr.


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